The Cottage

by Michael Phillips

  “Weel, ye stood up tae him, lassie—’tis a’ that matters.”

  Once more the crowded entryway quieted.

  “My friends,” began Loni again, “and I think I may at last truly call you that, this study behind me which you have all now seen was locked fifty-three years ago with this key.” She held up the dark iron key in her hand.

  She went on to tell about her first day on the island and Sandy’s visit. As she recounted his story of the funeral of Ernest Tulloch, many nods and comments punctuated her account from others who remembered the day.

  “On that day Sandy saw Elizabeth and Ernest’s firstborn son, Brogan, and his wife disappear up these very stairs into the room behind me, where they shut themselves behind the closed door. Only now, from reading letters and a journal from those former times, am I now able to tell you of the danger to Ernest’s legacy had Sally allowed control of the room to pass to Wallace’s wife, whose hatred of Ernest was by then well known and was the reason she chose to lock the door behind me in order to preserve the memory of the Auld Tulloch. Not everyone values legacies, and indeed there are some who will do their best to destroy them. Sally was wise enough to protect against that danger. By mutual consent on that day, she named Ernest Tulloch the posthumous Bard of Whales Reef, and Sally designated Brogan as Keeper of the Key. The room was sealed and never opened again until three weeks ago.

  “Incidentally, in my examination of some of the files in the study, I came across the marriage licence attesting to the marriage between Ernest and Sally. This will put to rest another untrue rumor that has been circulating for some time. It is on the sideboard just there,” she added, pointing down across the foyer, “if you haven’t had a chance to see it yet.

  “However, I was speaking about how I came into possession of the key to the Auld Tulloch’s study. Unbeknownst to any of us, this key made its way to America with Brogan and eventually into my hands through Brogan’s son, my own grandfather Grant Tulloch. Last month the key returned here to the Cottage where I opened the mysterious locked door.

  “So now I intend to follow Sally’s example, as your laird—though I must admit I am still having difficulty getting used to your calling me that!”

  Brief laugher went through the room below her.

  “And now, in the tradition begun by Sally as the mistress of the Cottage, I am going to assume the right to designate a new Keeper of the Key to what they called the Bard’s Chamber. I do not believe that it will be necessary for the room to be locked. I intend to keep it unlocked and available for use, yours as well as mine. The room represents a spiritual heritage left by Ernest Tulloch for the entire island. Its use, however, will be at the discretion of the new Keeper of the Key of the Bard’s Chamber. It will be his duty, and also his honor, to keep the Auld Laird’s legacy burning bright.”

  Everyone listening felt the solemnity in Loni’s voice and the import of the moment. From below, Maddy watched with awe to see what stature and confidence the mantle of her position had given her protégé.

  “I pray,” Loni concluded, “that the legacy of this proud family of which I am privileged to be a part will live on into future generations through men and women of Ernest Tulloch’s posterity and into the lives of everyone who calls this island of Whales Reef home.”

  Seeing David where he stood at Loni’s side, everybody listening assumed that she was about to turn the key over to him. Gradual exclamations of astonishment therefore began to circulate as she started down the stairs.

  “In that spirit, then,” said Loni as her eyes came to rest on one of the oldest men present, “I am today presenting this key to a man who truly knew Ernest Tulloch as a friend better than any other man or woman still alive.”

  She slowly descended the staircase and approached Sandy. Tears were now flowing down his aged cheeks.

  “Lassie . . . lassie,” he whispered.

  Loni held out both hands with the key in her palms.

  “Alexander Innes, lifelong friend of the Auld Tulloch,” said Loni, “I appoint you Keeper of the Key of the Bard’s Chamber.”

  His eyes glistening, daughter and sister beaming proudly beside him, Sandy took the key from Loni’s hand. Loni stooped down and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Lassie,” he said in a barely audible voice, “ye do an auld man prood.”

  78

  The Reefs

  The lengthy onslaught of rain and wind abated on Monday, but the seas remained turbulent. Most of the island’s fishermen went out, though some of the currents proved dangerous.

  Noak Muir in the Bonnie Muir found the going more difficult than he had encountered since his search for the Hardy Fire earlier that spring. Leaving the harbor and setting a northerly course around the west of the island, he passed the North Cliffs and found the swell from nor’-nor’-east perilously strong. He turned into it and battled it for twenty or thirty minutes before realizing it was hopeless to fish in such conditions. He began to navigate a wide circle to return to the harbor.

  Now the surging tide threatened to pull him straight into the rocky shoals at the base of the cliffs. He sent one of his men to the bow with binoculars to watch for the outlying reefs for which Whales Reef had been named. Noak powered with all the Bonnie Muir’s engine could give him to round the northwest corner of the island before the swell and the wind battered them to bits.

  A cry rang out from his lookout. It was not the warning of danger Noak had expected.

  “There’s a man snagged again’ the cliffs!” he cried. “Cor lumme, stone the crows! ’Tis a deid body, Noak!”

  The rest of the crew hurried forward to look.

  Whoever it was, they were powerless from where they were. Noak was doing his best to keep himself and his crew from joining the poor blighter. There was no sign of another boat gone aground anywhere on the reefs.

  Ten minutes later they were safely around the point and heading for the harbor at full speed. Noak was already on his radio to the Coast Guard.

  They reached the harbor. Within minutes, half the men of the village were piling into cars and the rest on foot making for the north end of the island in a swarm.

  Reaching the Peat Fields and seeing the black SUV parked at the end of the road, no one had to be reminded who had been driving it.

  Within the hour dozens of the village men were standing on the bluff north of the Peat Fields, staring straight down onto the rocky shoals below.

  Someone thought they saw a white object hung up against the rocks. It might be a hat, some said. Nobody could see it clearly from so far away.

  A police helicopter was first on the scene from Lerwick. Those in the village who had not made the trek to the cliffs turned out to watch it whirring overhead toward the north of the island. A Coast Guard rescue boat was not far behind.

  The waters were treacherous. No diver could be sent to recover the body. The helicopter could not risk getting so close to the cliff. A rubber skiff was launched from the rescue boat. With the aid of ropes and daring maneuvering, it managed to get close enough to snag the body and pull it from the cliffs, which had unbelievably kept it from being washed out to sea. By all rights, the body should never have been found.

  No one on Whales Reef needed to be told who it was. It took the police but an hour to identify the victim to the press as American James Joseph McLeod of Texas. The initial determination was either suicide—the man was obviously despondent, everyone in the village said, after his deception had been unmasked—or an accidental fall, though no one could imagine what he was doing on the North Cliffs.

  A preliminary investigation, however, amid numerous lacerations and cuts and broken bones from the fall, and the obvious deterioration of the body from being so long at the mercy of the elements, revealed a gunshot wound just above the heart. The coroner stated it as his opinion that the man had been dead before toppling off the cliff. Several unidentified markings on his chest, as if he had been jabbed with some kind of pointed blunt instrument, remained a
mystery.

  79

  Quiet Evening

  The brouhaha surrounding the discovery of the body off the northwest reefs kept David busy all day Monday. He traipsed out to the cliffs with the rest of the village men and was quickly swept into the investigation with the authorities. When the police helicopter set down a hundred feet inland from the cliffs shortly after the body had been recovered, the sheriff climbed out and ran toward the cluster of islanders to see if David was among them. Minutes later, the chopper rose and banked steeply around in the direction of Lerwick with David aboard in hopes of being able to identify the body.

  Having done so and been questioned to see what he knew, David was returned to the Whales Reef harbor. A crowd was waiting for him. Having their chief whisked away from the north bluffs by helicopter, then deposited two hours later at the harbor by police escort was cause enough for excitement. David’s confirmation of the dead man’s identity—which they had all suspected—produced an uproar that spread over the island like wildfire.

  The commotion did not die down all afternoon. A dead body set men’s tongues talking as furiously as any women’s gossip. Nothing was so delicious to speculate on as a suspicious death in their midst.

  David remained in the thick of it all day, followed about and peppered with questions. The inn remained full all afternoon. The din in the common room was so loud that even Hardy Tulloch’s voice at the table where he was holding court expounding his own theories about the Texan’s demise could scarcely be heard ten feet away. It was only with the greatest difficulty that David managed to extricate himself, making a stop by the market before hurrying home about four. He had promised the island’s two American guests dinner at the Auld Hoose after their day in the city. He was running out of time.

  David quickly got out of his boots and muddy trousers, showered and donned more suitable informal evening attire, then set about preparations in his kitchen.

  Loni and Maddy arrived about five-thirty straight from the ferry.

  “I’m running behind with supper,” said David. “We had considerable excitement here today. If you two want to take my car to the Cottage to change or rest up a bit, we won’t be ready to eat until about seven.”

  “We saw people about everywhere in the village,” said Loni. “What’s the excitement about?”

  “You won’t believe it,” said David, turning serious. “It’s actually rather gruesome.”

  Loni and Maddy waited expectantly.

  “A body was found on the northwest reefs,” replied David. “Noak Muir’s crew spotted it from Noak’s boat.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Loni as her hand went to her mouth.

  “A . . . dead body?” said Maddy.

  David nodded.

  “One of the fishermen?” asked Loni with concern.

  “Not exactly,” replied David. “It was Jimmy Joe McLeod. He fell or was pushed off the bluff. He had been shot.”

  The two women stared back in disbelief.

  “What happened?” asked Loni after a moment.

  “No one knows. The police are looking into it. Not a very appealing subject for pre-dinner conversation.”

  “What a shock,” said Loni. “Maybe we will go back over to the Cottage for some downtime at that.”

  ———

  With all the information she needed for her forensic analysis of the estate’s holdings and finances, and armed with dozens of files and documents and financial reports, Maddy was scheduled to return to the States on Wednesday.

  Loni had divulged nothing about her own plans. Neither Maddy nor David wanted to ask. Throughout Monday evening at the Auld Hoose, as David engaged in friendly conversation with Maddy and asked about her work, Loni listened quietly but said little. Much was on her mind.

  All three were silently wondering the same thing: Was there any reason for Loni to stay? Or was her business on Whales Reef completed?

  As the evening wore on, David, too, became subdued. Both women sensed the change. Conversation lagged. By common consent the visit drew to a close. David drove the two back to the Cottage about nine-thirty.

  He saw them to the door. Maddy went inside. Loni lingered. David was quiet.

  “I know that Maddy will be leaving the day after tomorrow,” he said at length. “I, uh . . . I assume you’ll be going with her?”

  The inflection of his voice hovered ambiguously between statement and question.

  Loni stared at the ground but did not reply.

  “I’ve been hoping you and I could spend some time together before then,” said David.

  “I would like that.”

  “Will you be meeting with Jason again?”

  “No. Maddy has all she needs.”

  “You’ll be around tomorrow?”

  Loni nodded.

  “Would you care to go for a walk? I would like to show you my version of your meadow. I want to return the favor of your showing me your special place.”

  “I would love to see it.”

  “Around one?”

  “That sounds perfect,” replied Loni.

  “Good. I’ll see you then. I’ll walk over. And wear your island-exploring clothes,” added David. “After the rain, it might be muddy.”

  80

  Thoughtful Walk

  David appeared at the Cottage on Tuesday at one sharp.

  “You’ll be okay alone?” Loni said to Maddy as she and David walked toward the door.

  “Hey, girl, if I can handle D.C. and New York, I can handle a village like Whales Reef. I may walk into town and have a pint of the best beer in the Shetlands. Meanwhile, I will canvass local opinion on their new laird.”

  “Don’t you dare!” laughed Loni.

  “I doubt you have a thing to worry about. These people are in love with you.”

  Loni smiled, then slowly nodded. “They have been unbelievably welcoming,” she said. “I love them too. What a change a month can make. I felt like a foreigner and stranger. Now I feel that I belong.”

  She and David left the house. David led her past the barn and stables north into the center of the island.

  “Have you been up the Muckle Hill?” he asked as their way steepened.

  Loni shook her head. “I walked about its base several times and noticed the big stone on top. I intended to climb it, but then . . .”

  She hesitated and smiled sheepishly. “I left sort of abruptly,” she added.

  “I noticed that!” rejoined David.

  Fifteen minutes later, warm from the climb up the steep and soggy hill, they reached the summit. They stood a few moments looking at the ancient stone monument.

  “What do all the markings signify?” asked Loni.

  “No one knows,” replied David. “They are Pictish or Norse, probably from the 600s to 800s, incredibly old and mostly worn away.”

  “You can see the whole island from here,” said Loni, slowly turning about. “The entire coastline is visible. What a view. It’s stunning. And there’s Shetland . . . it’s so close. From up here you see Whales Reef from such a different perspective.”

  “I come here as often as I am able and pray for the people of the island.”

  “What do you pray?”

  David grew thoughtful a moment. “Many things,” he said. “But my father taught me what is called the Chief’s Prayer as it was passed down to him.”

  “Would it be presumptuous for me to ask to hear it?”

  “Not at all. The laird should know what the chief desires for the people. It goes like this: A Dhe ar n-athraichean, cum agus dion do shluag anns an eilean seo le curam agus gradh. Gum biodh an aon eolas aca ort mar an Athair is a bha aig Criosda ort fhein. Agus gum biodh eolas agamsa oirbh, agus geill dhuibh, mar fhear-daimh umhail, fad mo re ’smo lo. Amen.”

  “That was beautiful, so lyrical and ancient-sounding. What does it mean?”

  “It’s Gaelic—a language that is nearly lost except in the western Scottish islands and Highlands. A rough translation would be
something along the lines of, God of our Fathers, keep and protect your people of this isle in your care and your love. May they know you as their own Father as Jesus knew you. And may I, their humble kinsman, know you, obey you, and be their faithful servant all my days. Amen.”1

  “That is as beautiful as the Gaelic,” said Loni.

  Loni looked at David and smiled. “You truly love these people and this island, don’t you?”

  “More than I can say,” replied David softly. “That is why this year of uncertainty over the inheritance has been such agony for me—I was unable to be all I wanted to be for the people. There was the threat of Hardy inheriting hanging over us, which would not have been good for the island, to say the least. Yet I could not openly contest it for fear of appearing self-seeking.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  David sighed. “There were many who misunderstood my silence. There were some,” he added with a laugh, “who thought I ought to claim the inheritance by force, as if I could usurp legalities altogether. And when we learned that an American had been discovered who was the rightful heir, then indeed did speculation run rampant.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I tried to put on a cheerful front and tell everyone that there was nothing to worry about and to give the unknown heir, whoever she was, the benefit of the doubt. And when they found out you were a woman, then did the island really erupt in a frenzy!”

  Loni could not help but laugh.

  “I could not help being concerned too. As I told you and your grandparents, my distrust of Americans went back to my boyhood. I was terrified that the island could be sold or changed or developed—all the things that our poor Texan friend planned to do. My concern for the future kept me awake many nights. Happily, shall we say, you turned out much differently than the evil specter of our overactive imaginations.”

  “I hope in a good way.”

  “In a very good way—from an opportunist bent on exploiting the island’s resources for personal gain, you are a—” David stopped.